


The Stars Are Blazing Like Rebel Diamonds

by AccidentalAvenger



Series: Read My Mind [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (It's gonna be a multi-chapter), M/M, There will be a continuation, homophobia and homophobic language, mind-reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:52:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccidentalAvenger/pseuds/AccidentalAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras had been born with the ability to read minds. </p><p>He didn't know why, but for some reason he could hear people's thoughts. It was like they were quietly talking to themselves, muttering what they were thinking about constantly. With a little bit of concentration Enjolras could push further; finding out each and every dirty secret a person had within seconds. The thoughts would just flow into his brain, uncontrolled and unfiltered.</p><p>And Enjolras hated it</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stars Are Blazing Like Rebel Diamonds

Enjolras had been born with the ability to read minds. 

He didn't know why, but for some reason he could hear people's thoughts. It was like they were quietly talking to themselves, muttering what they were thinking about constantly. With a little bit of concentration Enjolras could push further; finding out each and every dirty secret a person had within seconds. The thoughts would just flow into his brain, uncontrolled and unfiltered.

And Enjolras hated it. 

At first he hated the constant noise of other people's thoughts, cluttering his mind. He hated the way he knew everyone's opinion of him, like they had leant forward and told him, no matter how hurtful or wrong it was. He hated finding out people's worst secrets by accidents; his father's three mistresses or the way his housekeeper had started stealing from his family. He didn't want to know the worst about people as soon as he met them, he didn't want the never-ending chatter. Sometimes, when he was completely alone, he would lie back and pretend that the silence was what he always heard, that people could walk around him without Enjolras knowing where they were all the time. He pretended that his world was always that peaceful but it wasn't, not really. It was never peaceful. 

When Enjolras was nine he met Combeferre and Courfeyrac. His mother had decided that Enjolras' isolation was not good for him and that, mind-reader or not, Enjolras needed friends. So he had been introduced to the strange pair at one of his mother's many 'gatherings'. The Combeferre's and the de Courfeyrac's were both respectable families and Enjolras' mother had assumed that their sons would be suitable companions for her son. As soon as Enjolras had been introduced to the bored pair he had known differently. Combeferre's polite silence and Courfeyrac's act of friendliness had hidden the one thing Enjolras could relate to: frustration. 

The pair were frustrated at their boring, controlled lives and Enjolras knew exactly how they felt. Within an hour the three of them had escaped the party and began build a den at the end of Enjolras' huge garden, completely ruining their clothes in the process. In the months that followed the three spent a lot of time in that den, expanding and refining it while plotting various tricks. It had been in that den that the three of them had commiserated being sent to boarding school at eleven. It had been in that den, years later, that Enjolras had finally admitted his ability to read minds. 

His mother had been right when she thought that Courfeyrac and Combeferre would be appropriate company for Enjolras, it just wasn't in the way she had expected. 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac had accepted him and his abilities but introduced him to a whole new way of hating them; as an invasion of privacy. Enjolras agonised about what gave him the right to see the innermost thoughts, the most private secrets of any person he chose. He hated the way no one could have any proper privacy around him, the way that he invaded the most personal thing anyone had. He tried to even it out, desperately trying to make it better. He decided that if no one could have secrets around him, he wouldn't have secrets at all. 

That hadn't gone well. At fourteen he had come out, not quite realising the internalised homophobia which bubbled to the surface of his schoolmates as soon as the words "I'm gay" left his mouth. He had spent the next few years unable to ignore the cruel commentry that constantly surrounded him. Words such as faggot, Queen, queer, homo followed him everywhere until he couldn't tell if they had been said outloud or not. He always knew when someone was going to target him, meaning that physical abuse was avoided but the constant hatred towards him that poured into his head was cutting. The only people who stood by him were Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Even his parents couldn't stop the slurs jumping into their minds. Enjolras could see them trying to pretend that Enjolras had never said anything but their disgust was barely concealed. 

It was once he heard that disgust that Enjolras gave up on trying to please his parents. They had never really loved him as a person, instead they viewed him as a family necessity - a way to carry on the family name, a fashionable item for his mother to show off to her friends and, once his powers were discovered, a business tool - introducing him to business rivals and having Enjolras find out every dirty little trick and secret that his father could use against them. Enjolras had never been a proper son to them, no matter how he had tried. And finally, on hearing that concealed disgust, he had given up. 

Enjolras couldn't help but be empathetic, not when he could feel every painful, angry emotion as keenly as if it was him being wronged. As far right-wingers, his parents had never approved of charity and socialism so Enjolras had kept quiet about his opinions but he couldn't be bothered after seeing that disgust. He stopped trying to hide, to pretend that he was a perfect son. Enjolras wanted to change things and he could see exactly how to and finally he wasn't afraid to speak up anymore.

That's how he had ended up, years later at twenty-one, the supposed 'leader' of Les Amis de l'ABC. He had been disowned, of course, but his grandmother had left him enough money to afford university and to keep him living comfortably. 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac were still the only ones who knew about his ability to read minds. Sometimes he ached to tell the others but he couldn't see the future so he had no idea how they would react. He wasn't like Courfeyrac, effortlessly connecting with people. It was ironic really, Enjolras could read minds but he couldn't understand them. 

Like Grantaire. Even if Enjolras had broken his strictly followed rule and actually pushed in Grantaire's mind and memories, Enjolras doubted he would be able to understand Grantaire. The man was an enigma; a bunch of contradictions wrapped inside a worn green hoodie. 

Grantaire at in the corner of the Musain and barely ever contributed to a meeting. Any comments he made were pessimistic and unconstructive. He had a habit of drinking far too much, far too early in the day and then rolling in late the next morning, hungover and snappy. He caused a huge amount of distractions - which were often amusing, yes, but still were distracting. He was cynical, unreliable and seemed to enjoy irritating Enjolras. 

But at the same time he was smart, talented, kind and funny. Enjolras could see he was clearly talented and he cared about his friends. He couldn't help but see it, R's intelligence almost shone out of him some times. Apart from the days where Grantaire's mind was covered for the grey fog of depression. On those days Enjolras wanted to sit with the artist and hold his hand, to reassure him that life was worth it, to dispel the self-hatred that spilled away from him. couldn't understand how the dark haired man kept going when just walking past him drained Enjolras. That was one of the many disadvantages to Enjolras' ability; other people's strong emotions often spilled out and mixed with his, making it difficult to tell what he was actually feeling. 

That was part of the reason Enjolras couldn't tell if he was in love with Grantaire. 

He knew that R was in love with him, in a way. Grantaire idolised him in a way that made Enjolras feel terribly uncomfortable. In Grantaire's mind Enjolras symbolised optimism, light, belief and revolution. When a R called him 'Apollo' it was often with a mocking tone but Enjolras could tell that Grantaire believed it deep down. Enjolras saw that vision of himself in Grantaire's mind occasionally and he hated it. 

Enjolras didn't want Grantaire to idolise him, he wanted Grantaire to see him as a person. He cared for R a lot, maybe almost loved him - at least he thought he did. Enjolras rarely trusted his judgement when it came to love after a rather nasty experience as an under-grad. It was only once Enjolras had been passionately kissing the man that he realised he didn't even like the man, let alone love him. Enjolras' 'feelings' for the man had just been a reflection of the man's attraction to him, amplified by one of his previous friend's crush on the man. It had been an unpleasant next few days, which had included the loss of said friend and several bitter thoughts from the pair whenever Enjolras had encountered them. 

Since then Enjolras had hesitated before acting in feelings, especially when it came to romantic relationships. Feelings were always confusing for him, but especially so when it came to Grantaire. Enjolras just didn't understand how one person could be so frustrating; amazing but uncaring. 

"You're staring at R's hands again," Courfeyrac said wryly. Enjolras snapped back into the present and glanced at his friend.  
 _"You look pretty angry about it this time,"_ Courfeyrac pointed out, silently raising an eyebrow. Enjolras scowled at his friend who shrugged, his face faux-innocent.

They fall back into companionable silence, Combeferre beside them, his mind working furiously. Enjolras begins to relax, letting the thoughts of his friends wash over him.  
 _"She had the most wonderful laugh..."_ _"I've got a shift at eight but the bus will take at least twenty minutes so I'll leave here about seven-thirty and I'll make it in time. Probably."_ _"Bossuet sounds like he's coming down with a cold, he always does this time of year - I've got some vitamin C somewhere..."_ _"I really hate Thomas Hardy. His poems are so forced and depressing. You can write about lost love without boring people as well; Byron proved that..."_ _"I've never really believed in anything but I believe in him."_

The last thought made Enjolras jump. It had the unmistakable feeling of Grantaire about it, a hint of dark green at the edges. It's clear, clearer than the usual rambling train of thoughts that runs through most people's heads. Enjolras can't help but latch on to it, his attention attracted to Grantaire's mind like Grantaire had turned and yelled at him. 

Enjolras felt the slight embarassment hovering around Grantaire. It made him begin to smile slightly but he caught himself and frowns at the book in front of him instead. He tried to focus on that, ignoring Grantaire's thoughts but he couldn't help but flinch when he heard, _"Fuck, that was cheesy. What if I said that outloud? What if someone in here is a mind-reader?_

It's a question Enjolras had heard float up before, one which usually occured when the person thought particularly pornographic thoughts in a public place. He usually ignored it - what other people think about was none of his business; Enjolras had long ago trained himself not to give judgements on what wanders through people's minds. He found it strange how many people thought one thing but did another, for a thousand different reasons. Most people didn't have any control over what they think so Enjolras tried not to blame them. Whirlwinds of _"holy shit, what if someone can read minds and they heard that - fuck!"_ were actually surprisingly common. And Enjolras knew how it all ended. 

" _If you're a mind reader, cough right now."_

The words echoed around Enjolras. He was expecting them, in a way; he knew Grantaire was going to think them. What he hadn't expected was the sudden urge to cough that overwhelmed him. He really wanted to cough. It was the perfect opportunity, his one chance. If Enjolras ever wanted to admit to Grantaire that he could read minds, this would be the chance. 

And Enjolras suddenly really wanted to. 

He forced the urge down; ignoring the memory of the feeling of relief when he shared the burden with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, forgetting the guilt he sometimes felt and forgetting how good it felt to be truthful, to not have to lie. He turned back to his work and tried to block out Grantaire's thoughts. He shouldn't have been focusing on them anyway; it was a breach of trust. 

He heard a snort, outloud, and glanced back up at Grantaire who was shaking his head, almost imperceptibly. As soon as Enjolras focused on him he could clearly hear what R was thinking. The dark-haired man took another gulp from the bottle of wine he held.  
 _"God, I'm an idiot,"_ ran through his mind and Enjolras could tell that R really believed it.

Then Enjolras couldn't stop himself. He stared openly at Grantaire, catching the man's eye and cocking his head slightly. Grantaire stared back, slightly shocked by the sudden attention. 

Enjolras quietly coughed, not breaking eye contact with Grantaire.

Panic flared up in R's eyes and he slamed the bottle down on the table. His mind was churning - _"Fuck, fuck," "No - it's just a coincidence, it has to be," "Please no, anyone else,"_ \- and R was out of the door of the Musain before Enjolras even had the chance to regret the impulsive cough. 

Enjolras stood up and rushed after R, ignoring his friends staring and their thoughts loudly wondering what the hell had just happened. 

Enjolras didn't know himself. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Killers' song 'Read My Mind'  
> The second (but not last) part in a series based off a tumblr post.


End file.
